I am moving into

another head

where thoughts are kinder to me…

With more breathing room

frosted Windows, and better wiring.

With fluffy pillows of cerebellum

to soften nooks and crannies

and fewer doors.

Where Disney daydreams never get interrupted

by the Emergency Panic Service

(conducting a test in my area)

and Night Terrors

are just a show on TV.

When I move, the only prerequisites

for my new, grey space

are “fugue it” rooms

(for wall-scrawling)

a widow’s walk,

& guard rails….

maybe one of those gliding, stair-lift thingeez,

to facilitate illogical leaps, and breaks in rationale.

When I move, I am throwing most everything I have already, away

Boxes and boxes and boxes

and boxes!

(bet you knew that was coming)

of stuff Pandora likes

but me not so much

and a few, dead cats the reek of which

permeate every, single meta-phor of my current mind-frame

> even high heaven <

since death

(like heat)

rises.

©Karen Robiscoe